


but don't fear the fall

by thebitterbeast



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I took a lot of liberties with canon, M/M, Wells Jaha Lives, and the relationships, because wellamy yo, because wells lives shush you, starts off at Unity Day on the Ark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebitterbeast/pseuds/thebitterbeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A choice Wells makes on the Ark leads to a friendship that he did not expect. One moment in time can change everything.</p><p>Or;</p><p>Wells and Bellamy were friends on the Ark, and that has repercussion when they land on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and when the sun goes down

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot fix-it fic. I started it a few months ago when we went back to Asia for medical reasons, but it spanned into a monster of a fic, a total of 37 pages on Word with some scenes that had to be cut out even. As such, I've split it into three parts.
> 
> Basically, I just wanted to write a thing where Wells lives, and he and Bellamy have more screentime than we were given.

"Where is your scanner?"

Wells vaguely recognizes the guard staring down his nose at the cadet. He definitely recognizes the superior look on his face, that triumph at having a hold over someone else. The look the cadet is sporting highlights the panic and fear he must be feeling. The teenager barely notices the masked girl the cadet is trying unsuccessfully to shield with his body before he registers the fact that he is moving towards them.

"There you are," he infuses just the right amount of relief in his voice, and generates some shock and dismay when he 'notices' the other guard. " ** _Oh_**."

He allows himself a brief moment of fiendish glee at the older man's reaction. Sometimes being the son of the Chancellor has its perks. "I hope this won't reach my father?" He asks hopefully, allowing a sheepish grin to cross his face. He rarely, if ever, leaves Alpha station, largely due to the fact that he knows people would not care to look past his name, but today, he uses that to his advantage. "I thought I'd be back before he noticed I was gone, but I guess that is shot to hell." Wells gestured wryly about him and frowns before turning to the masked girl confusedly staring at him, the cadet trying to mask his own disquiet as well. "I'm sorry," he tells her. "This is not how I wanted our date to go." He adds, briefly, "or how I wanted you to find out who I am."

He exhales noisily and hands over a scanner to the cadet. The man takes it bemusedly and, abruptly, Wells realizes he is taller than him. (And that he is absurdly pretty.) "Your scanner, cadet. I guess there is no way of keeping the fact that I was here from my father now." He shrugs helplessly.

Turning back to the guard, Wells tilts his head questioningly. "Was there anything else?"

The man seems to sputter for a second before he settles on, "The girl hasn't taken off her mask or been scanned."

Wells frowns severely. "She's been scanned," he counters. "As for the mask," he hesitates, looks over to the two brunettes, a suspicion he is better not voicing forming in his mind. "She's better off not being seen with the son of the Chancellor." If there is a tinge of bitterness colouring his voice, well, it is a good thing nobody in this room knows him well enough to call him out on it. It is a good thing Clarke chose to spend the day with her father, he thinks suddenly. If she were here, things would go south rather quickly.

He catches the relief in the eyes of the cadet and the girl, eyes that are so alike in their shape, before they turn away. The girl looks back once, to mouth a quick _"thank you"_ over her shoulder when no one is looking. And Wells smiles, because no matter the fact that he just broke countless laws - he knows he did the right thing in helping the duo. He hopes that they stay safe.

Idly, he wonders what the cadet's name is before pushing the thought out of his head. It is not like he will ever meet the man again.

* * *

So of course, two weeks later the cadet - no, not a cadet anymore - is added to the roster for mess hall duty in Alpha station. Wells falters when he catches sight of him, before a sharp prod in his side snaps him out of it. Clarke looks at him in concern, but he shakes it off with a smile, and she allows it. They continue their conversation as they take their seats, Wells only once looking back at the man standing by the wall - turning back sharply when he finds piercing eyes staring right back at him. He ducks his head and takes a sip of his water, hoping Clarke has not taken notice of the flush that covers his cheeks.

* * *

Bellamy has spent the days after Unity Day wondering at their luck and waiting for the other shoe to drop. It had been too close a call, and Octavia, though she still hates being confined to the room, is shaken up enough not to fight him on things much.

He cannot help but think that it is too good to be true. Why would the Chancellor's son help them? He lied for them, blatantly. And Bellamy does not like not knowing why.

This means that when Bellamy is offered a chance to be assigned to Alpha Station, he jumps at it. It is one of the most boring jobs the guards can be assigned - mess hall duty - but Bellamy does not care. If there is a chance to corner and question the Jaha boy, he will take it.

The other guards think he is showing eagerness because he wants to prove his worth. He lets them, their amusement barely registering. He has his reasons and they are his own.

It is a few days before he catches sight of the boy during his shift. It is another few moments before the boy catches sight of him. The recognition flickers across his face before his companion takes his attention. Soon, Bellamy tells himself, he will have his answers.

His eyes constantly find themselves on the boy's back while he is there. He is so close to giving rest to his disquiet he can taste it.

When the boy's companion leaves first, Bellamy heaves a sigh of relief. It would have been awkward to try and approach the Jaha boy otherwise, but he would have tried. The boy leaves shortly after, and Bellamy waits a beat before signaling to his companion that he is taking a break.

He follows behind the boy for a bit, long legs eating up the space between them until they are level. The boy registers his presence seconds before he speaks. "We need to talk."

The boy - and Bellamy needs to stop calling him that, because up close he can see that he is older than Octavia, barely a few years younger than him, and taller than him even - nods hesitantly. "Not here," he says before Bellamy can suggest it. Bellamy hates to admit that he is impressed with the other's discretion.

He follows Jaha to an empty corridor, both quiet and focused. He can feel the air between them crackle with what is unspoken - what he wants to confront the teenager with. But he also has a grudging respect for the man who is in front of him, respect for his actions so far.

The silence that lies between them is rife with expectation. Bellamy is the one to break it, ever impatient for answers.

"Why did you do it?"

To his credit, Jaha does not pretend not to know what he is talking about. He shrugs almost helplessly. "Because," he struggles to find the words. "It seemed like the right thing to do."

The guard scoffs, eyes narrowing at the naive child. "The right thing to do?" He shakes his head. "People don't just do things like that. You want something? Are you going to use this against me? Have a guard indebted to you so you can get away with things easily?" He raises an eyebrow and sneers. "Being the Chancellor's son not enough of a power trip for you?"

Jaha seems to resent that jab, stiffening and glaring down at Bellamy. His jaw clicks almost audibly, and Bellamy hates the way he has to almost look up at the teenager, who looms over him now. The anger has taken over the uncertainty, and his eyes flash with something unidentifiable before he bites out," I don't want **anything** from you."

"Everybody wants something," Bellamy shoots back immediately. There has to be a catch. "Nobody does anything for free."

Again with the emotion in his eyes, cleared away before Bellamy has time to place it. "Not me." He makes as if to leave, and Bellamy's hand is on Jaha's arm before he can think this through.

"We're not done yet." But he falters, because Jaha is looking at him and waiting, and Bellamy does not know how to proceed anymore.

A beat, and then Jaha rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says, crossing his arms across his chest. He looks the picture of an insolent teenager, and Bellamy feels much more sure of himself. "You owe me a favour. Okay?"

"What favour?" Because Bellamy wants to know what he is getting into. (Also, pushing Jaha's buttons is turning out to be fun.)

The teenager huffs out a breath and snaps, "I don't know. To be determined." He flings his hands up in the air. "When I need it. Are we done here?"

Bellamy steps back and nods. All is right in his world now that he knows the terms. A smirk crosses his face. "Yeah, we're done here."

The jerky nod he receives back before Jaha stalks away is barely acknowledged as Bellamy allows himself to finally believe that his family is safe for the moment.

It is only after, when he is talking to Octavia, that he realizes he doesn't even know Jaha's name. It is not like it really matters, but it bugs Bellamy that he does not have all the information. He is sure the teenager will have learned all he can about Bellamy himself, and he feels wrong footed once again. He does not like it.

He resolves to correct this lapse immediately.

* * *

Things do not go as planned, however, and Bellamy's life is turned upside down in a few short moments. A slip on his mother's part, a guard with a grudge, and Aurora is floated, Octavia is locked up in the Sky Box, and Bellamy barely escapes execution because he has been a good guard and is demoted instead.

He would almost prefer floating, he thinks to himself as he cleans up the mess some kid left on the floor, if not for the faint hope that he will see Octavia again someday.

He does not expect the Chancellor's son to burst through the doorway, wild-eyed and worried. Bellamy looks up, startled enough to lose grip on the mop he is holding. It clatters to the floor loudly, but he forgets about that when the teenager blurts, "I swear it wasn't me."

"What?" _Real intelligent, Blake._ He is sure he looks as lost as he sounds.

"It wasn't me," Jaha repeats. _Wells,_ Bellamy reminds himself. He had managed to find out his name before everything went to shit. "I didn't tell anyone about you. Your family."

The slip of the tongue is ignored in favour of Wells' admission. Bellamy cannot help the knot that loosens in his stomach that Wells has tracked him down for this purpose.

"I know," he says instead of expressing gratitude that Wells seems to care enough about what he thinks of him to find out what happened to his family. "It was my fault." (That is not entirely true, but Bellamy does not see it that way.)

Wells frowns, but Bellamy thinks it might not be directed at him exactly. "That doesn't seem likely," the teenager hesitantly expresses. He shakes his doubt off, and his expression melts into one of hopefulness. "Is there anything I can do?"

Bellamy squints at him. "Why?" he asks suspiciously.

Wells huffs a breath and rolls his eyes. There is exasperation in his expression, but instead of the extreme annoyance from their last meeting, there seems to be amusement creeping at the edges of his lips when he comments, "You're not going to believe me if I say it's the right thing to do, are you?"

It is a rhetorical question, so Bellamy simply quirks an eyebrow in response, a faint smile threatening to cross his face. _You're learning,_ he thinks but does not say. Wells sighs, again. "Because if I was in your position, I would hope someone would be a friend."

He looks surprised then, like he does not believe the words have come out of his lips. Bellamy does not quite believe them either. "You want to be friends?" The skepticism is obvious in his voice.

Something shutters in Wells' eyes, and the teenager admits, "It's a selfish request. Not many people want to be friends with the Chancellor's son, for some reason." He sounds bitter, and Bellamy realizes that he might not be the only lonely person in the room.

"Your father isn't going to like that," he points out.

Wells raises his chin. "My father does not have a say in who my friends are."

"You mean your father won't know," Bellamy counters.

Wells has the decency to look sheepish and duck his head. The chuckle that escapes Bellamy's lips is entirely involuntary. Surprise, and a slow grin, covers the teenager's face.

"If you want this to work, you're gonna have to be a better liar," the janitor teases.

The teenager shrugs, eyes sparkling. "I'll work on it," he promises. He then sticks out his hand. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, but acquiesces, shaking his hand. The handshake is warm and firm, solid, like he is realizing the teenager is. "I'm Wells Jaha. It's nice to meet you."

"Bellamy Blake," he responds automatically. "You too."

* * *

It becomes routine in the weeks after for Wells to hack into the server and find out Bellamy's schedule, making it easier for him to track the older man down. He takes whatever he is working on with him and settles down in one corner while Bellamy does his work. His father is not around enough to notice, though Clarke, Wells thinks, is getting suspicious of all the time he is away from home.

Sometimes Wells even tries to help, but the first time he spills more water on the floor than necessary is the last time he is allowed near the mop. Their conversations range from whatever Wells is working on to their families. Though hesitant in the beginning, both men slowly begin to open up to one another.

* * *

He is sitting alone in the dark when Bellamy finds him, some months after they first stepped into this tentative friendship. Bellamy can safely say Wells is possibly the best friend he has ever had, and he thinks he might know more about Wells than this childhood best friend that has been mentioned in every story Wells has. So when he sees Wells sitting there, he knows something is wrong. When he catches sight of the look on Wells' face, he feels his heart sink. The morose expression, the loss in his eyes, strikes a chord deep in Bellamy's heart.

He steps forward and places a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Wells?" The man in question startles out of his reverie, looking up at Bellamy in confusion. He looks so broken that Bellamy drops any pretense he might have otherwise affected to drop into the seat beside his friend. "What's wrong?"

Wells opens his mouth to respond but can find no words. He shakes his head instead, dropping his head into his hands. They sit in silence for a few minutes before Wells speaks. "My friend's father got floated." He seems to steel himself, raises his head to stare blankly at his hands. "I was the only person she told about what he was doing. She thinks it's my fault my father found out."

Bellamy says nothing in response, simply squeezes the shoulder his hand is still holding comfortingly. Wells looks (adorably) confused, and oh-so-heartbroken when he looks at him and asks, "Aren't you going to ask me if I told my father?"

"You never told your father about me, did you?" Bellamy asks instead, voice and hand steady. It seems to be all that is grounding the teenager.

"Of course not," Wells, if possible, looks ever more lost at the turn in their conversation, and almost offended at the insinuation.

"Then obviously you never told on your friend," Bellamy states. It is as simple as that. Wells is nothing if not loyal, Bellamy knows this completely. He loves with everything he has, and Bellamy knows that loyalty now extends to him.

The look on Wells' face is indecipherable, but the despair has cleared some. "Thank you." He reaches out to Bellamy's hand and squeezes back. He looks settled when he lets go, and Bellamy thinks to himself, _I did that_. But all he does is smile, clap his friend on the shoulder, and get to work.

They do not talk the rest of the night, but are comforted by each other's presence. It is enough.

* * *

Wells hates that he has no time to search out Bellamy to warn him. Hates that he has just a scant few hours to act before the decision will be made.

He is relieved he still has a few days before he is eighteen, but he has to hurry. He has to act now or all will be lost.

_I will look out for Octavia,_ he thinks to Bellamy, promises with all he has. _I'll make sure she's okay._

He makes his move.

* * *

The ground is rushing up at them, Wells does not have to be able to see it to feel it. He tries, again, to get Clarke to just talk to him. He hates the thought of them dying with this misinformation between them. He closes his eyes at her fierce retort, heart aching.

And thinks of Bellamy, who knew him for only a few months and believes in him, trusts him, so completely. Thinks of the man who is his friend, who he cares about far more than he expected going in. Thinks about leaving without saying goodbye, and hurts even more.

They crash, and miraculously are still alive. The chatter around him brings him out of his daze, and Wells unbuckles. He stands up slowly, muscles aching in protest even as he begins to take stock of everybody and every thing he knows of their situation. Admittedly, that is not much.

A shout captures his attention. A familiar name, a voice he knows responding, a blur racing towards - **_Bellamy_**. He must have hit his head, he thinks wildly. There is no way.

Except when Octavia untangles herself from her brother's arms, he sees that Bellamy is here. On the dropship. Bellamy is here.

Wells' eyes rake over the man's form. The crash has not seemed to hurt him, and he's in a guard's uniform. He distantly registers the conversation taking place as he takes a cautious step towards the crowd. He knows he will not be welcome here much, if at all, but it is as if Bellamy is the sun and Wells must simply orbit around him to survive.

_Bellamy,_ he thinks again, _what did you do?_

As if sensing his thoughts, Bellamy looks up, and their eyes meet. He must appear more stricken than he thinks because Bellamy looks as shocked to see him though he quickly schools his expression. He smiles down at his sister, and Wells is so happy they are reunited, he is, except he is also so terrified. They are urged to the door, and Wells tenses as it opens, sunlight streaming through. Nothing happens though. Or at least nothing bad.

Bellamy looks back, once, their eyes meeting again, before he steps forward to his sister. Wells hurts, though he does not know why, and he follows Clarke out into the sunlight.

Everything has changed.

* * *

Bellamy is still reeling - from the crash, from having gotten to the ground, from Wells being here. Wells is here. Wells. His best friend Wells. The man who was his sanity since Octavia was locked away. Wells, who knows just about everything about him and still likes him.

_Wells, whose father he shot_.

It is too much, too fast. The teenagers are cheering, rushing out into the sun, bolstered by the fact that the radiation has not killed them. Octavia is tucked under his arm, and Bellamy is smiling, but his heart hammers for another reason.

Wells will never forgive him.

It was easier when he thought he would never see the teenager again. Easier to make a choice when he told himself that Octavia needs him more than Wells does. Except Wells is here now, and Bellamy does not know why or how. All Bellamy knows is that Wells will never forgive him.

And that hurts far more than anything. He steels himself - Wells cannot have that sort of power over him. Bellamy knows what he has to do - 

                                                                                                                                                                                                - and he hates it.


	2. hope that you fall in love and it hurts so bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the series of canon scenes, with a slant to them. Some added scenes to build characters and relationships. Because why not.

It takes a little bit for Wells to regain his bearings after watching Bellamy walk away from him without looking back. It is like the past months have not happened, like the older man has not seen Wells at his worst, had not bared his soul in return. Like they had not become friends, closer than Wells has ever been with anyone.

Wells tries to pull himself together, to not follow after Bellamy instinctively the way some of the others have already done. He understands the magnetism of the other’s presence, and cannot fault the other teenagers for falling under Bellamy’s spell.

His eyes still follow the familiar figure for a little while, loathe to tear away from his movements. Wells knows nothing is going to be the same again, and he may never get a moment to just observe the man who was his very best friend just the day before.

And then Bellamy is out of sight, and Wells’ eyes blur at the sudden pain he feels.

 _Clarke,_ he thinks desperately. _Look for Clarke, help Clarke. Stop thinking about Bellamy. Forget everything and look for Clarke._

Still, even as he turns to find the girl ( _one of the girls,_ his traitorous mind corrects him) he got on the dropship for, he casts a glance back at where he last saw Bellamy.

* * *

His conversation with Clarke goes about as well as he expects. Which is to say, she hates his guts, but is willing to work with him to figure out their next move. His nerves are fried, though, and he is on edge. Movement behind him and a sarcastic comment has him reacting defensively, and he has pushed back the slight boy a few steps and barked out harsh words before it registers that he might be overreacting.

Of course, with his luck, it has attracted attention and another pale figure, snarl on his lips and hatred in his eyes, has approached them. Wells lets go of the boy and raises his hands in surrender.

“Relax,” he says, even as he knows it will be of no use. “We’re just trying to figure out where we are.”

The voice that cuts in before the shorter boy can answer is familiar, and Wells manages to keep himself from flinching at the short tone Bellamy takes. “We’re on the ground. That not good enough for you?”

Bellamy is looking and treating him like a stranger, and Wells feels a flare of sudden white hot anger. He lets his instincts get the better of him, even as the more rational part of him notes that this will win him no friends. Then again, he is the Chancellor’s son, he will forever be known as the Chancellor’s son.

Even on Earth, he will have no reprieve from his father’s legacy.

He smarts from the words of the people around him, Bellamy’s lack of defense hitting him far harder than anything else. He expects it from everyone else, from the teenagers who only see his father when they look at him. He even expects it from Octavia, who has only met him briefly, once, and who probably does not even remember it. But Bellamy? Bellamy, who knows how difficult it is for him to step out from under that shadow? Bellamy, who he once spilled his hurt over everybody’s preconceived notions to?

Screw him, Wells thinks fiercely. He managed to survive the Ark while bearing the weight of judgmental stares because of his father’s actions. He will survive this.

(Never mind that on the Ark he had Clarke before Bellamy. Here he has no one. Here, he is alone. He will survive, he tells himself. He has to. He knows the costs otherwise.)

* * *

It is harder than Bellamy expects not to step in and stop the fight that is brewing between Wells and the teenager confronting him. He hates that he is staying away, hates his lack of action, but his first priority is Octavia. She has always been his first priority. Wells knows that. Wells has always known that.

Still, he holds himself stiffly back, away from Wells. He wants to make sure that the teenager is not too badly injured, but he cannot risk it. Letting himself remain Wells’ friend could cost him when the other find out about his actions. So instead, he concentrates on Octavia.

(But his sister can never make things easy for him, and she volunteers for a mission he will not go on. Not when the rest of the teenagers need someone to look to, and he might be the one they are turning to.)

(Not when Wells is injured and will be otherwise left alone and defenseless if he goes.)

* * *

Wells would much rather be going to Mount Weather with Clarke and the other teenagers than be left behind with Bellamy. Dealing with Clarke’s hatred and the others’ misplaced anger would be much easier than dealing with the fact that his best friend is pretending that they mean nothing to each other.

His eyes are still drawn to Bellamy’s face while the others talk though, and he catches sight of the flicker of emotion that the older man does not hide. His mouth turns downwards as he wonders once again just what is going through Bellamy’s mind.

Maybe he is better not knowing. Maybe he is better off forgetting that he can read and catalogue every emotion that crosses Bellamy’s face, that he knows the other man so well. Because then at least it will not hurt anymore.

(Yeah, because he can really forget the only solace he had on the Ark in the last year. He is going to have to suck it up and soldier on like he has not lost literally the only thing that has been keeping him going. No one is going to be able to use that against him.)

* * *

Bellamy barely hears the blonde’s, “You shouldn’t have come here, Wells,” as he watches Octavia walk away with the group. When he looks down at Wells, he is still looking after them, and the expression on his face is the one he has seen once, when his friend’s father got floated.

 _Oh,_ he thinks, a pit forming in his stomach. _That is the friend._ The desolation in Wells’ eyes when he turns away and catches Bellamy’s gaze is like a slap to his face.

Then there is a subtle shift in the teenager’s expression, and he tears his gaze away. Bellamy can only watch as Wells pushes himself to his feet and limps away.

 _This is for the best,_ he reminds himself, even as he cannot move from his spot. _This is for the best._

* * *

The fact that some of the teenagers are threatening Wells should not come as a surprise to Bellamy. Neither is the fact that Wells is trying to be responsible and not let it bother him. He sees the pile of branches the teenager has collected, sees the words carved onto the side of the dropship, and wonders how no one else sees how Wells is his own person and not a miniature version of his father.

He wonders how long Wells will last before he snaps and lets them fend for themselves instead of trying to be the better man. He hears the strain in Wells’ voice as he pushes past the boy threatening him and ignores the urge to follow.

Instead, he subtly warns the teenagers while swaying them to his side. He needs to stop the Ark from contacting them. The more wristbands they can destroy, the less likely it is that he will ever be caught for shooting the Chancellor.

His friendship with Wells will have to be sacrificed in order for him to keep his freedom. That is just the way it is going to have to be.

It does not stop the feeling of loss that spreads through him, though he does his best to ignore it.

* * *

The chaos that is their first night on the ground is everything Wells expects, and more. He is not surprised that everyone is celebrating their freedom, their lives. He is not surprised that even as they celebrate, they shoot him distrustful glances and glares.

He is not surprised to find Bellamy in the thick of it all. This day has taught him that there is a side to Bellamy that he did not know. So he is not surprised.

The older man is charismatic as he convinces the other teenagers to get rid of their wristbands. Panic clogs Wells’ throat as he watches the teenagers cheer as yet another band is broken and tossed into the fire.

“What the hell are you doing?” is shot out before he can stop himself. He steps forward, Bellamy meeting him halfway. They are surrounded by the others, and Wells may have told himself to stay away from Bellamy and the pain that comes from being around him and not understanding why he has changed, but it seems like they keep getting thrown together because they are on opposing sides. Even worse is that he knows he is alone in this crowd while Bellamy has all the support. Just a day or so ago, he could have counted on having Bellamy on his side, but things have changed. He wishes he knew why.

His explanation falls on deaf ears, and the smirk on Bellamy’s face as he drawls out, “That’s the point, Chancellor,” cuts through Wells like a knife. “We can take care of ourselves. Can’t we?” The cheers that greet Bellamy’s words do not matter nearly as much to Wells as the look on the older man’s face.

 _Why,_ he thinks, _why are you doing this? What did I do to make you hate me? What can I do to get the stakes through to you?_ If he could just manage to convince one person, they may have a shot at saving everybody on the Ark.

He turns away as he speaks earnestly to the other teenagers, missing the look on Bellamy’s face. Wells does not realize that to Bellamy, he is as charismatic and effective a leader as Bellamy is to him. But Bellamy has a larger hold on the teenagers than Wells does. He is not the Chancellor’s son, after all, and that goes a long way to kids whose parents were floated, or kids who were locked up for the pettiest of crimes. Still, he says, jabbing at Bellamy’s leadership skills purposely, “I don’t care what he tells you, we won’t survive here on our own.”

By this time, he is facing Bellamy again, and they are facing off as he directs his words at the man, “Besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?”

The empathy he is trying to find in Bellamy does not appear, and the man responds with, “My people already are down.” Wells wants to look away, and also wants to grab Bellamy by the shoulders and shake him. Bellamy cannot blame everybody on the Ark for the actions of the Council, yet he is condemning them all to death.

The teenager stands his ground as Bellamy walks towards him, each word that falls out of the older man’s lips chipping away at any sway Wells might have managed to gain. Each word that falls from Bellamy’s lips stabbing Wells painfully, reminding him that Bellamy knows every weakness, every insecurity he has.

He knows it is coming. He knows that Bellamy will use everything he knows against him. He wants to be wrong, but he no longer knows this man with his friend’s face. “Your father did that,” Bellamy says, and Wells wants to scream in frustration and hurt.

“My father didn’t write the laws,” Wells snaps back instead, every muscle tight and taut as he tries to keep from hitting Bellamy. He knows how Wells feels about being branded his father’s son, his father’s heir. Still, he pushes at it, and the look in his eyes is not even the least bit apologetic.

“No,” he agrees. “He enforced them. But not anymore.” There is no accusation on the older man’s face, which, Wells is ashamed to admit, is a source of comfort. At least Bellamy is not blaming him for his father’s actions. “Not here.” It is like a switch has been flipped, and Bellamy raises his voice. “Here, there are no laws.” The teenagers respond positively to the statement, and Wells knows he has lost. “Here, we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want.”

Wells cannot see a shred of the man he knew in the Bellamy in front of him, and his protests will do him no good. “Now,” Bellamy continues, “you don’t have to like it, Wells,” and the name slips out easily because of how long it has been since the man has called him by his last name, “you can even try to stop it, or change it, or kill me. You know why? Whatever the hell we want.”

There is a smirk playing at the edge of Bellamy’s lips as he ends his speech, as the teenagers surrounding them take up the chant of “Whatever the hell we want!”, as his eyes keep coming back to the silent teenager in front of him.

_Who the hell are you,_ Wells thinks.  _Did I never know you at all?_

They are locked in their own silent battle, Wells keeping all his emotions at bay through sheer force of will as their eyes remain on one another. It is then that the sky chooses to remind them that they are on the ground, and it begins to rain. Both of them look up, and Wells lets the water trailing down his face wipe away his negativity as he smiles in awe. He glances back at Bellamy, needing his support on the next logical step. The grin on Bellamy’s face has his breath catching, but he chooses to push past it instead.

“We need to collect this,” he tells the older man when they are finally looking at one another again. Water is necessary to their survival and any more conflict can wait. Around them, the teenagers are celebrating and cheering.

Bellamy is intense, and the teenager wishes again that he knew what happened to turn everything around between them. “Whatever the hell you want,” he says, and while his voice wraps around Wells like a comforting blanket, this day has Wells second-guessing everything he knows about Bellamy. The fact that Bellamy is not stepping up to be the leader Wells knows he could be if he just stopped to think rationally is disappointing, and he pulls away from the other man, both figuratively and literally.

 _No, I never knew you at all,_ he thinks, lump in his throat as he walks away.

* * *

It almost hurts physically to watch the shutter fall in Wells’ eyes, to watch him walk away with hurt and confusion plain on his face. Everything in him screams at him to follow, to stop him and spill everything.

But Bellamy stays where he is and watches the tall figure disappear into the crowd and beyond, letting the water trickle down his face.

He has to keep telling himself that this is the way it has to be. (But it holds less weight than it should if it means losing the one person whose friendship means everything to him.)

* * *

Confronting Wells, again, when the teenager is asleep away from everyone else, is not something Bellamy particularly wants to do. He does it anyway, lowering himself once again in Wells’ eyes, and establishing himself in the eyes of the other teenagers.

He needs them to listen to him if he wants to keep the Ark from the Earth. So he sucks it up, approaches Wells, and is the biggest asshole he has ever been. The utter panic in Wells’ eyes when he covers the teenager’s mouth and shushes him, gun in hand, is something that will haunt Bellamy when he will let himself think on it later.

Wells still follows him out of the camp they have created. Bellamy is not sure if it is a lingering loyalty that he is about to lose, or if it is apprehension and worry that he will actually hurt someone. He is not sure he ever wants the answer to that.

Once they are far enough, Bellamy stops them. “That’s far enough.” Wells turns, and there are no expectations on his face, no hope or familiarity. It hits Bellamy once again just how fast he has managed to sever this friendship. “I don’t want to shoot you, Wells. Hell, I like you,” and the words are honest, though they taste sour in his mouth. He is throwing away his sanity, the one person in his corner since losing Octavia. But he has to, he reminds himself. “But I do need them to think that you’re dead.”

The trepidation in Wells’ voice hurts, but Bellamy reminds himself that this is what he wants. “Why? Why are you doing this? For real, not some crap about getting to do what you want to do.”

Bellamy wants to laugh and cry, not even the least bit shocked that Wells has managed to see through everything he has done on this day. His gaze flickers to where he has told a few of his newly acquired men to hide out as he answers with a vague, “I have my reasons.” A reason Wells will never find out if Bellamy can help it. He continues cockily, “I also have the gun, so I ask the questions. And the question is, why aren’t you helping me?”

He asks it even as he knows it is never going to be something Wells does. This is the man who is decent and naïve enough to do things because they are the right things to do. He will not take away the chance the Ark has to come down to the ground just because it will keep them free.

“Your dad banished you, Wells, yet here you are, still doing his bidding, following the rules. Aren’t you tired of always doing what is expected of you?” He wonders what Wells had done to get on the dropship. He wonders if the blonde has anything to do with it. He thinks it should not matter either way, but it does.

His words fall on deaf ears, obviously. Wells’, “No,” is firm, his voice steady, his eyes piercing. “Never. Not going to happen. Is that clear enough for you?” There is emotion enough under his tone for the older man to notice, nuances only he picks up because he has had months of practice. Disappointment laces the lines of his mouth, and Wells knows that Bellamy sees it, even as he knows that it will never be the answer the other man wants. And Bellamy hates himself for what he is about to do. He still does it.

“Yeah, it is.” He cocks the gun, and tries to ignore the flinch that runs through the teenager’s frame. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.” The shock that crosses Wells’ face when Bellamy keeps the gun away instead of shooting him is painful, but even more so is having to watch Murphy and the others hold a screaming Wells down as they break off his wristband.

Bellamy wants to throw up, Wells’ screams tearing through his soul. Instead, he walks away, each step tightening the noose around his neck until he feels like he cannot breathe.

Wells will never forgive him for this.

Just like he wants.

(So why does it feel like he has lost everything that ever mattered?)

* * *

It hurts when Wells thinks about how the previous day ended, so instead, he focuses on the aches in his arms. His muscles scream in protest as he digs further and deeper for the graves of the two teenagers they have already lost, but it is easier to think about that then to think about everything else, to think about anything else.

He walks back into camp with the teenagers things in his hands, and tries not to stop and stare at the chaos that is already building around their makeshift home. His tone is still neutral when approached, he knows better than to alienate his companions any further than they already are.

Things rarely work the way he wants them to, and his stomach turns on itself when Bellamy exits the dropship sans shirt, followed by a girl he thinks is named Roma. “You still don’t get it, do you, Chancellor?”

He sounds almost disdainful, and is definitely challenging him when he stops Atom. “You want it back? Take it.”

Wells’ annoyance surges once again, and he turns away to fling the rest of the items onto the ground, not having to look to know that the other teenagers are rushing at the things. “Is this what you want?” he asks Bellamy, focusing on the important things and not the churning in his gut at all that remains unspoken between them. “Chaos?”

There is slight hesitation on Bellamy’s face before he puts on a smirk and the shirt. “What’s wrong with a little chaos?”

A scream cuts off whatever remark Wells can make, and putting aside their differences is done without hesitation in favour of hurrying to the source. Finding Murphy, one of the boys who seems to enjoy the violence and chaos a little too much, is little surprise to Wells, but his actions seem a little extreme. He rushes to where Murphy is holding a girl over the fire and shoves him to the ground.

Turning to Bellamy, he tries to appeal to his better nature again. “You can stop this.”

“Stop this? I’m just getting started.” And Wells’ heart sinks again. He wonders how much more of this new and colder Bellamy he can take.

Murphy’s punch comes out of nowhere, and Wells should have been paying attention to his surroundings instead of just Bellamy. He fights back, and some of his hits take, but Murphy is fueled by the hatred he feels for Wells’ father, and it is not long before he is flat on his back as Murphy continues to hit him.

He catches sight of Bellamy over Murphy’s shoulder, and feels his own anger rise in response. Wells flips them over and punches Murphy in the face. He hits the other boy a couple of times before leaving him limp on the ground and getting up, turning to Bellamy. The glare on his face must be something fierce, because for once, Bellamy looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Don’t you see you can’t control this?”

While he is looking away, Murphy pushes himself to his feet. His quiet, “You’re dead,” has Wells glancing back at him. He hates himself for the surge of hope he feels when Bellamy stops the shorter boy, and for the subsequent crushing feeling that overtakes him when the older man spouts something about a fair fight and drops a knife at Wells’ feet. He is uneasy as he picks it up, as Murphy smirks at him almost maniacally, but despite the one scratch he gets, it ends with his knife at Murphy’s throat, one arm holding one of Murphy’s behind his back.

That is the moment Clarke chooses to come back, and he is not unused to the hurt that floods him at the condemnation in her eyes. Never mind that she missed the cause of their fight. Never mind the fact that she knows Wells would never act violently without a reason. It seems like she has chosen to paint him as a villain in all her stories, and Wells – he is already tired and they have only been on Earth for a day.

He shoves Murphy to the ground, and braces himself for impact when the boy attempts to rush at him. Bellamy steps between them, and Wells thinks viciously, _too little, too late,_ ire thrumming through his veins.

It is only when Clarke informs them all that their little band of explorers was attacked that his focus shifts. “Attacked? By what?”

“Not what,” Finn responds. “Who. Turns out when the last man from the ground died on the Ark, he wasn’t the last grounder.”

Disbelief seems to be the general consensus. Clarke continues with an explanation, and Wells lets himself worry. There are murmurs amongst the others as they surge closer to hear Clarke’s words. Finn’s words seem to hit home, and Wells’ realizes they returned one short.

“Where’s the kid with the goggles?”

Clarke turns to him, and the lack of hatred on her face strikes him, if only to highlight just how much worse everything has gotten. “Jasper was hit. They took him.”

He can see the self-blame, and he wants to comfort her, but he is sure it will not go down well. The moment is lost when she catches sight of his wristband. Or rather, the lack of. She grabs his arm, and he holds back a wince at her grip. “Where’s your wristband?”

Wells uses his free hand to push hers away. “Ask him,” he nods towards Bellamy, clenching his jaw. He still has not let go of the knife in his hand. His guard is up, and he thinks he is never going to be able to drop it. Not when everybody hates him and seems to want him dead.

The blonde’s focus is directed towards the older man, and Wells is glad of it. He is even happier when she slips into calling them out, letting the people around them know that they have basically killed not just everyone on the Ark with their actions, but themselves too.

Bellamy chooses then to interject, and Wells wonders once again just what has happened to put Bellamy on the dropship. What he did, what he is afraid of. And then he wonders why he still cares after the night before.

The damage is done, and the crowd is once again swayed to listen to the older man. Wells sees as Clarke stalks away, disapproval clear on her face. He stands where he is, alone in a crowd, knowing no one will listen to anything he has to say, not Bellamy, not Clarke, not anyone.

* * *

“There you are,” Wells enters the dropship behind Clarke. He knows her well enough to know that she will not be leaving Jasper behind, not if there is even a slight chance that the boy is still alive. Still, he keeps his tone light as he comments, “When my father said they left us with nothing, he really meant it.”

She looks at him, and he is steeling himself for more accusations, more hurtful words tossed his way, but her eyes fall on the cut left by Murphy and she reaches out. He shrugs out of her grip. Wells may be willing to follow her into whatever hell is out there, but he is done letting her hurl her pain his way. He may be willing to shoulder the blame for something he has not done, but he will no longer allow her to play hot and cold with her friendship. “It’s just a scratch.”

“You’re making friends fast,” is softly said, and there is a shade of worry to it. That is switched off as soon as Clarke remembers who she is talking to and what she thinks he did to her. “Keep it covered. Could get infected.”

Wells nods and turns his focus to the scant supplies they are putting together. The conversation they have is rife with awkwardness, and he follows behind her as she tries to keep him from joining her little expedition. He swallows the bitterness he feels as Monty cuts in. He may not have chosen this at first, but better Clarke hate him than her mother. He remains silent and watches, a myriad of emotions churning as the blonde speaks with first Monty and then Finn. She is good at this, he thinks, and people hate her far less than they will ever hate him.

He is less than impressed at Finn’s words, and shows him as much. Wells stops in front of him after Clarke exits the dropship. “Build a wall. Use some of the fallen trees. I’ll watch out for her.” _It’s what I am here for,_ is what he does not add.

* * *

Even while Bellamy cleans and wraps the cut on his sister’s leg, part of his mind is on how close he had come to actually permanently losing Wells. He knows that many of the teenagers on the ground are actually capable of killing him, and he had been standing by and doing nothing to help. The guilt sets like a stone in his gut.

The blonde appears, and he wants to roll his eyes at the judgment in her tone, but is caught off-guard by Wells following behind like a silent protector. _Of course,_ he thinks. Wells is on the ground for her.

Octavia is ready to move out again, to rescue the kid that was left behind, but Bellamy stops her, and is a little surprised when the blonde agrees. A dark sort of amusement takes over when she tells him she wants him to go along on their crazy adventure. The distrust in Wells’ voice when he questions his friend dampens that amusement, but the blonde ignores him in favour of posing a challenge to Bellamy. He gives her the satisfaction. Even worse, he sees the sense in her words. He directs Murphy to follow him, and steels himself to head out into the unknown.

Bellamy tells himself it has nothing to do with making sure Wells does not get hurt. (Bellamy has never been very good at lying to himself.)

* * *

He would much rather Bellamy not be joining them on this little expedition. His words have bite, and he hates himself for calling all the other teenagers criminals when he knows they are not all that bad, but he needs Clarke to change her mind. Wells has forgotten how stubborn Clarke can be, and he tells himself that he just has to ignore Bellamy. Somehow.

That is difficult when he is so aware of the older man all the time.

* * *

It does not hurt that Wells refuses to turn back. It does not. The fact that Bellamy’s words to Murphy are particularly vicious has nothing to do with the fact that Wells has not once turned to acknowledge him.

He has to keep reminding himself that this is what he wanted. Still, watching the blonde walk beside Wells has a scowl playing on his lips, and a dark look on his face.

They move silently for a while as Bellamy picks up his speed. He knows he is being a dick when he speaks, but he needs some sort of reaction from Wells rather than this apathy. And he gets it.

Wells gets up in his face, only Murphy pushing him back keeping the teenager from maybe even reaching out and hitting him. Bellamy should not be as perversely happy about that as he is. _Yeah,_ he thinks to himself, lips curled up into a smirk. _You cannot pretend I am not here. I am not going to let you._

His attention is only half on Clarke as she speaks. Instead, he is gauging the way Wells has stopped himself from saying anything. The way Wells has stepped back from acknowledging Bellamy again. He **_hates_** it. He prefers the anger and the disappointment from this lack of anything that Wells is showing him. He taunts Clarke more, but Wells remains silent as the blonde defends herself.

“Brave princess,” he says in response, casting a glance at Wells to see if there is any reaction, any at all. There is nothing, and the older man wants to figure out what it will take to get Wells to speak to him again, even if it is just the exchange of harsh words.

The spacewalker chooses that moment to announce himself, and Bellamy is a little surprised when Wells does not even flinch at Clarke choosing to walk off with Finn. He stands where he is, and Bellamy realizes that the reason Wells has not moved is because he does not trust either Murphy or himself. It stings, even if this is what he wanted.

He holsters his gun and walks away, Murphy and Wells behind him. This is the plan, he tells himself. (The plan is stay away from Wells, but that is not possible. A Wells that hates him is better than no Wells at all.)

* * *

The teenager is torn between keeping an eye on Clarke and Finn, and the hyper awareness that Bellamy is within reach. It is less painful to focus on the friend who hates him for reasons he knows than the friend who pushed him away for reasons unknown.

But Bellamy cannot keep silent, it seems. He would much rather they pretend the other does not exist, but the older man seems intent on twisting the knife further.

“Guess we got more in common than meets the eye, huh?” There is something extra in his voice that Wells elects to ignore. There is a strain in his neck as he fights to keep from looking back at Bellamy.

He loses that fight, casting a very brief glance, and then facing back to the front quickly as Bellamy falls into step beside him. “We have **nothing** in common,” and if his voice is heavy with the hurt he feels, this time he does not hide it. He used to think that he and Bellamy were kindred spirits, lonely souls on the Ark, surrounded by people who would never understand them, not really. Then they had found each other, and in that friendship Wells had found comfort and a haven.

The last two days are telling him that everything was a lie, and he continues to walk, hoping that Bellamy would take the hint and shut up. It is to no avail. “No? We both came down here to protect someone we love.”

Wells slows down a little at that, turning the words over in his head. He got on that dropship to protect Clarke, yes. She is still his friend, despite everything. She is his family, and there is nothing he would not do for her. But, his heart hammers in his chest, she is not the only reason.

He also got on that dropship because he knew Octavia would be there. He may not know Octavia, may have only met her once, but she is Bellamy’s sister. He did not have the time to get to Bellamy, so he made the decision to get on the ship and protect her for him. Because it would hurt Bellamy if anything happened to his sister, and the last thing Wells ever wants is for Bellamy to be hurt.

The lump in his throat grows, and he steadily ignores Bellamy’s gaze as the older man continues to talk. “Your secret is safe with me. Of course, for you it’s worse. With Finn around, Clarke doesn’t even see you.” Wells schools his expression before Bellamy shoots a smirk over his shoulder and points out, “It’s like you’re not even here.”

It is nothing he does not know. Clarke hates him for something he never did, something Bellamy knows. He is far too intelligent to not have put together that Clarke is the friend Wells always talks about. But he deliberately taunts Wells about that broken relationship, and Wells aches because this is the worst time for him to realize that the biggest reason he got on the dropship is standing right in front of him, with no care in the world.

The person he loves who he was trying to protect is Bellamy.

This is a secret he is taking to the grave, he swears to himself. He will not give anyone this power over him, not when it is apparently so easy to turn away from him.

* * *

Their trek continues, and Finn proves to be useful while Bellamy continues to be an ass. Wells is not amused when Bellamy leans in as Finn and Clarke exchange loaded glances and says, “See, you’re invisible.”

He simply clenches his jaw, and they follow the sounds of groaning that cuts through the air.

Wells is more than a little disturbed when they catch sight of Jasper, strung up and bleeding. Clarke hurries towards the barely conscious teenager, not paying attention to anything around her. The panic that rises in him when the ground gives way beneath her is swift, and he is quick to wrap his arms around Bellamy’s waist to help him pull the blonde up and to safety.

Their focus is on Clarke, and making sure neither Clarke nor Bellamy is hurt. But a part of Wells is also conscious of the fact that he has his arms around Bellamy. Their physical contact has been limited to a hand on the shoulder, a handshake, nudges and playful kicks to the shin. This is the closest they have ever been.

It is a group effort to get Clarke out of the pit, and it is a beat after that for Wells to let go of Bellamy. He backs away quickly, the proximity between them too much to handle after his revelation of his feelings. Wells would much rather join Finn in cutting down Jasper than staying so close to Bellamy, but he cannot say that, so he stays where he is when the other teenager issues his orders.

Instead of drifting closer to Bellamy as he might if he is not careful, he sticks close to Clarke. Her observation strikes him as odd, and he adds his confusion to hers. Nobody else’s comments are particularly cheerful, and there is a silent agreement to move a little quickly.

Movement and noise in the bushes catches their attention, and they are all on alert. The giant cat – a panther, Wells’ mind supplies – stalks, and then runs towards them. Runs towards Bellamy.

The thought of Bellamy being hurt, or worse, killed, spurs Wells into action. He holds up the gun he slipped out of Bellamy’s jeans and shoots at the panther. He manages to get it just before it tears through Bellamy, and it falls to the ground before the older man. The fear he feels does not abate, not even as he continues to pull the trigger,  even though the clicks tell him that he is out of bullets. His eyes are on the cat, and then on Bellamy. Nothing else seems to exist for him outside of the fact that Bellamy is safe. The gun drops from his hands, his adrenaline rush fading.

Bellamy looks at him, breathing heavily. “Now she sees you.” And Wells looks back at Clarke, caught off guard, remembering that other people are here as well.

 _She is not the one I want to see me,_ he wants to tell Bellamy. The words never make it past his lips.

* * *

They bring the cat back to the dropship alongside Jasper, and it makes for enough of a meal to feed everyone. Wells stays away from the crowd after taking a little food for himself, slipping back into the dropship to sit near Jasper’s makeshift bed.

He is getting to his feet when Bellamy approaches him from behind. He wants to leave, to get away, but the older man is blocking his way.

"You saved me."

They are close, too close, and Bellamy's eyes are bright with something that Wells refuses to acknowledge. His jaw locks and tenses, he holds himself upright even as his heart trips over the thought of how close it had been and how much he wants to sink into the older man's warmth to reassure himself that everything is okay. But he looks at a point over Bellamy's shoulder instead and bites out, "It was the right thing to do," voice tight with every accusation and hurt feeling he will not hurl Bellamy's way. He is careful not to touch the other when he moves around him, careful not to give in to the urge to look back again, trace Bellamy's form with his eyes and memorize the way he looks - so very careful not to break under the fear and the heartbreak he feels.

He is in too deep, far too deep, and the worst is he can talk to no one about it.

He is all alone here on the ground.

(He misses the way Bellamy's eyes follow him as he walks away. Misses the loss that mirrors his. Misses the regret.)

* * *

Wells spends most of the next couple of days avoiding Bellamy, which proves harder than it should be. For someone that is all but leading the hundred of them, the older man somehow manages to be near Wells wherever he is. So the teenager chooses to spend more time with Clarke. At least her jabs he can understand and elect to ignore.

Bellamy turning up in their makeshift infirmary as well has his hackles up. He remains silent as Bellamy comments on the futility of saving Jasper. Remains silent as Octavia elects to stay, as Monty and Finn call Bellamy a jackass.

 _He is not,_ he wants to say. _He is not that bad,_ he wants to tell them. But Wells is not sure the Bellamy he knows even exists anymore, so he remains silent.

Octavia casts a glance at him, curiously, but Wells does not catch it.

He backs up a little while Clarke and Finn begin to argue, and Octavia moves with him. She settles next to him by the wall, and he looks down at her in surprise. She is watching him, a familiar look in her eyes that has him warily asking, “What?” He has seen that look in Bellamy’s eyes before, and he knows to proceed cautiously.

“You and my brother, you knew each other before this.” It is a statement, not a question, so Wells remains silent. “You know, I never did get to thank you for Unity Day.”

He sighs and looks back at Jasper, and the now-silent Clarke. Finn has left the area, and Monty has moved back to give the blonde some room. “I wasn’t sure you recognized me.”

He feels rather than sees Octavia shrug. “It took me a while to remember it.” She shifts to get comfortable, and Wells senses there is no way out of this conversation. She is as stubborn as her brother, he is almost fond when he thinks it. “You and Bellamy became friends after he confronted you about it?”

Wells laughs and shakes his head. “No,” he replies. “After you – **_after_**.” He is bleak and a little broken as he thinks about the friendship that no longer exists.

“My brother is an idiot,” she says idly, and Wells laughs again, resting his head on the wall.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “He is.” They sit there in silence for a little while, and Wells thinks he may not be as alone as he thinks down here.

* * *

Clarke’s treatment of him begins to chafe at him after the understanding he and Octavia come to, and while he volunteers to go with her and Finn to find more of the weed Jasper’s poultice is made from, he is no longer as silent as he was.

He wants – no, **needs** – some semblance of a truce between them. He has spent most of his life with this girl by his side, and his worldview is skewed without it. She can continue to blame him, he does not mind, but he wishes she would let go some of the anger in her heart.

It is a futile hope, but he holds it throughout the day, as she cuts him off, as she snipes at him, as every word lodges another knife into his heart. And then they are stuck in that bunker while the yellow fog passes overhead and Clarke begins to cry as she accuses him of murdering her father, and Wells says nothing in his defence.

Better she hate him than her only living parent, that is the plan, right? He drinks the rest of the bottle and ignores the way it feels as if he has been ripped apart and left to bleed out.

* * *

Unfortunately for him, Finn is more observant than he thinks, and their conversation leaves him reeling. Everything has been turned upside down, his entire world, since he got on that dropship.

 _Maybe,_ he thinks wildly, _maybe I should never have gotten onto that damn ship._

Even as the thought crosses his mind, he knows he would never make a different choice. He exhales, and closes his eyes wearily. He is far too young to be this damn tired.

* * *

Bellamy wonders when Wells became their official gravedigger. It is the only time he willingly approaches the older man with anything resembling civility, and he nods in response, wanting to follow but knowing he cannot.

Atom is dead, and he has to tell his sister. The Earth is trying to kill them all. He exhales. He feels too old already.

* * *

Wells appreciates the solitude that digging a grave gives him. It is calming to focus on the motions and the labour instead of thinking about everything else. Clarke intruding has him tensing up, ready for another argument.

Instead, he gets his oldest friend back.

Holding her in his arms, running his hands through her hair as the anger melts away from her frame and sobs shake her body. “What are friends for,” he says softly, closing his eyes and keeping his own tears at bay.

He is no longer alone, and he hurts a little less for it.

* * *

Watching the sunrise through the trees, the sky turn pink slowly, is the lone benefit of his watch. He makes no move to send Charlotte back to camp, the night is ending and with it ends majority of the danger they face, and he wants to be away from his own thoughts.

The girl slowly crying and the knife aiming for his jugular is a shock. He barely manages to keep his fingers, and it is only Bellamy walking in on the scene that keeps Wells from losing his life. The teenager evades Charlotte’s reach, the knife slicing through his shirt and the skin of his side rather than piercing through his neck like she was attempting.

The older man is stunned. He thought Wells would be alone, and they can maybe have a civil conversation – maybe Bellamy can try and fix something the way it seems Clarke and Wells have. Charlotte trying to kill Wells has him rushing forward with a panic-laced, **_“Wells!”_** spilling from his lips.

Charlotte herself is startled into dropping the knife. Her eyes widen as she looks from one to the other, and then she is on her feet and off into the trees. Bellamy reaches Wells’ side and sees the blood staining his top. He falls to the ground next to the teenager and brings his hand to press against the bleeding cut.

“Shit,” he says. The two men exchange glances, and Bellamy tries to swallow down the fear still running through his veins. That was too close. Far too close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Follow me on [tumblr](http://ankahikoibaat.tumblr.com/) for more Wellamy flailing and headcanons. And if you want to know about those deleted scenes.)


	3. until my moment comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's where things change, a lot. (there were supposed to be more scenes, but they didn't flow as well and got edited out.)

It is slow moving back to camp, even though they are not that far. Bellamy is cautious, almost overly so, of letting Wells move on his own. He keeps an arm around Wells waist and makes the teenager press his hand onto the still bleeding wound.

His pulse is still racing, and Wells, while complaining a little, is leaning heavily against his side. The camp comes into sight, and there is a shout from the inside. Bellamy expects the blonde to rush out immediately, but it is not Clarke but Octavia who hurries out to Wells’ other side.

“What happened?” she asks, worry plain on her face.

Wells looks down at her and gives a wan grin. “It’s just a scratch,” he says, and to Bellamy’s shock, Octavia huffs in amusement.

He is still taut with enough of lingering fear to cut into their conversation. “Charlotte tried to kill him.” His sister gasps, and Wells’ hiss is the only indication Bellamy gets that her grip has tightened on him.

“I’m fine,” Wells says firmly. “But we don’t know where Charlotte is, and we should find her.”

“We’re getting you to Clarke first,” Bellamy shoots back, eyes dark and stormy as he stares straight ahead. “That wound can get infected if we’re not careful.”

The teenager does not respond, but he can feel Wells sag slightly and knows that he is in more pain than he will admit. Bellamy picks up his pace slightly, and the glance Octavia sends him tells him that she can sense it too.

Thankfully Clarke is in the dropship when they enter. She pales dramatically when she catches sight of their ragtag trio and directs them to put Wells down. He does not protest as she hovers over her, as she cuts open his shirt. Bellamy takes a step back and observes the ease between them at the physicality of Clarke’s treatment and clenches his jaw.

Octavia crosses her arms across her chest. “Why would Charlotte attack you?”

Wells winces as Clarke dabs something on his cut, and she hushes him. He rolls his eyes and responds, “I don’t know. She said something about having to slay her demons.” He shrugs, and Clarke hits his chest lightly and glares at him to stop moving. They miss the wide-eyed look Octavia sends her brother’s way, and the sudden intake of breath from Bellamy himself.

The older man swears under his breath, turning away as he runs his hands through his hair. “This is my fault,” he says. “This is my fault.”

When he turns back around, Clarke is standing just in front of him. She narrows her eyes at him. “What do you mean? What did you do, Bellamy?”

He opens his mouth to respond, unable to look Wells in the eye. It is easier to keep his eyes on Clarke’s blue gaze, on her blame, than to see that same look on Wells’ face.

Octavia interjects, “It’s something he used to tell me when I used to have nightmares. Something our mother used to say. Slay your demons, the nightmares can’t hurt you.”

“You told an armed twelve year old to slay her demons?” Clarke still sounds incredulous.

They are all shocked when Wells puts himself between the furious Clarke and silent Bellamy. He sways a little, and Bellamy puts a hand on the teenager’s waist to steady him. “It’s not his fault,” he says. Bellamy’s breath catches.

“Charlotte twisted his words, and took them literally.” Wells shakes his head, and Bellamy wonders how this boy can be so good. His eyes remain locked on the back of Wells’ head. “It is not his fault,” the teenager repeats. “Now we’ve got other things to worry about. Namely, where Charlotte’s gone to.”

Clarke frowns up at her friend and takes his arm. “You need to rest before you make this worse on yourself. Someone else can go out and look for Charlotte.”

“You need to do it,” Wells says immediately even as he lets her lead him back to her little infirmary. “You and Bellamy need to be the ones to tell the others what is going on and put together a search party. They’ll listen to you.”

It looks like the blonde wants to object, wants to stay with her best friend, but Octavia volunteers to stay behind instead. The fight leaves Clarke and she nods. She adjusts the bandages on Wells’ wound and presses a kiss to his cheek before standing back up and gesturing with her head that they leave. Octavia hugs Bellamy quickly, and when he glances at Wells to reassure himself that the teenager is alright, he catches the other looking back at him.

“Be careful,” Wells murmurs to Clarke, but his eyes remain fixed on Bellamy. Bellamy ducks his head, heart turning over itself in his chest. That message is for him as well.

They exit the dropship.

* * *

Wells allows himself to droop into himself as Bellamy and Clarke leave the dropship. Octavia is by his side, a comforting presence, and he does not feel any judgment from her as his hand strays to his bandage and rubs it wearily. The exhaustion and pain is clear on his face.

The weight of Octavia’s gaze on him prompts him to look at her and give her a wan smile. Her answering one is small and full of the worry he feels himself. Wells offers her his palm, and she slips her smaller one into his. He threads their fingers together and pulls her next to him.

“They’re going to be okay,” he tells her, his voice far more sure than he is.

“I know,” she responds, but still she rests her head on his shoulder and keeps her hand in his.

* * *

As soon as he can, Bellamy strides ahead of Clarke and towards the crowd of teenagers he can see. He would rather not be in range of her condemnation and blame for the actions Charlotte has taken. He has enough guilt on his conscience, is beating himself up enough for that already.

Wells could have died and it would have been on him. It would have been his fault, like so many other things have been. Instead, he focuses on finding the young girl, focuses on the teenagers milling around the two of them, confused but sure that something is up.

“Charlotte is missing,” Clarke begins without prompting. “We need to find her before the Grounders do.”

Bellamy picks up the thread of conversation. “We’re putting together search parties. Anyone interested, step forward. Those of you who decide to stay back, Wells and Miller are in charge.”

Miller’s eyes flick to his and he frowns minutely. But Bellamy simply gazes back and inclines his head, steadfastly ignoring all the complaints about Wells being in charge. He knows Wells will be good at it, better than he himself is. And he knows Miller will not let anyone get out of hand.

Clarke continues after a beat of less than a minute, “We need at least fifteen in each group. One group with Bellamy, one with me. We’ll split up again from these groups a little further from the dropship.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy calls out. “Mbege, with me.” The two boys immediately walk over, and he nods at Clarke to split the rest between them.

He says nothing while Clarke works, says little while they leave the camp. His heart, while no longer racing, is still trying to comprehend how close he – _they,_ he thinks – came to losing Wells. Just a little bit later and Wells – it does not bear thinking about.

The group trudge down their chosen path, all very aware that a misstep can mean death for them all. Still, they are conscientious in looking for their missing member. Bellamy wonders if any of them will care that Charlotte tried to kill Wells. Most, if not all, of the teenagers harbour anger against him, and Bellamy has not helped matters. He knows Clarke blames him for the way the teenagers have been treating her best friend, and for Charlotte’s actions, but he thinks bitterly to himself, a day or two ago and she had been treating him worse.

Why did it matter either way? He has to focus on finding Charlotte, and he has to stay away from Wells. It is the best thing for the both of them.

* * *

It is close to sunset when Bellamy’s group rejoins Clarke’s, and Charlotte is with neither. The man’s heart sinks at the look on Clarke’s face, a mix of despair and resolve. Somehow, he knows Charlotte will never be coming back.

“What happened?”

“She,” and Clarke falters, and Bellamy is reminded of how young she is, how young they all are, and he feels old down to his bones. “She jumped off a cliff when she saw us coming. Said that she couldn’t live with what she tried. Said she was sorry.”

The girl is blinking back tears, and before Bellamy can decide if comforting Wells’ best friend is a good idea, the spacewalker wraps an arm around her. Clarke turns into him, and Bellamy is relieved. Comforting anyone other than Octavia is just plain weird. Her boyfriend can deal with her.

Except, the traitorous voice in his head reminds him, he has comforted Wells before, and that felt right. Felt great even.

 _Shut up,_ he thinks to the voice. Things have changed. Everything has changed.

* * *

Wells is still in the dropship when the groups return, sans Charlotte. Octavia and Miller are the ones to meet the group, and they are both shaken by the turn of events, Octavia more visibly so. Bellamy’s eyes keep flicking to the dropship, waiting for the familiar tall figure to step out, but he never does.

Thankfully, no one notices where his attention is.

Or at least, he thinks no one notices until Octavia nudges him and rolls her eyes. “He’s injured,” she says softly. “Moving around so much is painful for him.”

Bellamy gapes for a second, and attempts to collect himself. “I wasn’t – that wasn’t – I – was the camp okay while we were gone?”

His sister stares at him, raising her eyebrows at his pathetic change of subject. But she goes with it. “Yeah, everything was fine.”

“Good,” he replies. “Good.” Geez, could he sound more like a loser?

Octavia seems to be waiting for something, because she huffs out an irritated breath, muttering, “Idiot,” under her breath before stomping off. Bellamy is confused by her behaviour and watches her walk away towards the dropship. She turns around before she ducks in through the entrance, raising her eyebrows pointedly at her brother once again before disappearing from sight.

 _Well, **shit** , _he thinks.

* * *

The large group is silent as they mourn Charlotte. Not many of them knew the girl, and even fewer know she attempted to kill one of their own. Chancellor’s son or not, Wells is one of their own, and Bellamy thinks it is time that they start acknowledging that. A large part of the chasm between the ‘elite’ and the rest of the hundred is due to his words, but with how close they have come to losing Jasper to grounders, with the fog killing Atom, with Charlotte’s death, he is realizing they need to be of one mind to survive.

He finds Murphy sharpening his knife and settles next to him. “You need to stop picking fights,” he begins without preamble.

The younger man’s lip immediately curls, and Bellamy interrupts him before he can say anything. “The Earth is already killing us. Between these grounders, the fog – god knows what else – we can’t be fighting amongst ourselves too. You’re a good fighter, Murphy. Focus that fight on what’s beyond those walls, not within it.”

He does not wait for a reply, pushing himself to his feet and stalking off. Murphy’s eyes follow his movement, glittering dangerously. He grits his teeth and turns back to sharpening his knife.

It is time to talk, Bellamy thinks. He needs to heed his own advice.

* * *

Clarke is the one to initiate a meeting in the dropship. A small group of them gather together – Clarke and Wells, obviously, because those two have become joined at the hip; Bellamy and Miller, because Miller has shown that he can lead when necessary; Octavia and Monty, because they refuse to leave, much to Bellamy’s displeasure. It starts the way all of Bellamy’s interactions with the blonde go, with arguing. Clarke cannot let go of the fact that Bellamy’s words led to Charlotte’s attack on Wells, though she no longer hates him for the whole wristband business. The lack of wristband on her wrist is telling in her stance on that.

However, they argue about how to go about setting up their camp. Charlotte’s actions have shown them that dissension amongst themselves will happen, and they need structure. They need rules, they need a chain of command. But coming up with a plan is difficult when the two who have stepped up to be leaders are constantly at each other’s throats. It takes Wells stepping between them, metaphorically if not literally, for them to calm down and listen to him.

"Because you're right about this much at least,” he tells Bellamy. “We're not on the Ark anymore. But we can't live in complete chaos. We have to have some rules, some punishments so that we don't go around killing each other." Wells' eyes are flinty as he looks at the small group that has gathered in the dropship. His voice has an edge to it, and Bellamy - Bellamy is more than a little taken in by just how persuasive (and attractive) this take charge attitude is.

"We're not alone on the ground," the tall teenager continues, that same smooth tone flowing around the group, and everyone is hanging on to every word. "We won't survive if we continue fighting among ourselves. They'll slaughter us." His eyes lower as he says softly, "They've already started."

To Bellamy's surprise, it is not the blonde who is always next to Wells who speaks first but his sister. "Wells is right. We need some sort of structure to survive the grounders." There is a murmur of assent from the rest of the teenagers, and Bellamy can practically see the wheels churning in Clarke's brain.

He crosses his arms across his chest as he frowns in thought. "What's your plan then?" he asks skeptically. "Establish a Chancellor down here, on the Earth?" He does not mean to be degrading, but someone has to play the Devil's advocate here. "No one is going to stand for that."

While Clarke looks about ready to bite his head off, Wells speaks earnestly, "Absolutely not. We've seen how well the Ark's system has worked," and there is a wry twist to his lips that Bellamy recognizes from long conversations in darkened corridors at night, "and we need to figure out something else. Something that works for us."

"Put major things to a vote," Bellamy suggests, and it is almost like those conversations again. Debates that stimulate their brains and have them both trying to figure out what works best, despite knowing it is futile to hope to change things. Except here they can make a difference. "Have a small group - council, maybe, to make the ultimate decisions - but give these kids some voice."

The grin that crosses Wells' face is just this side shy of smug and fond, and Bellamy feels a rush of warmth at the knowledge that he is reflecting on the same moments. This is what he has been missing in the past few days, this rapport with this man whose opinion and thoughts he values beyond most. Then someone ( _Monty,_ he thinks) coughs a little awkwardly. Octavia looks more than a little amused, Bellamy thinks, when he catches her eyes. He flushes and ducks his head as Clarke and Miller try and break down a system that works with the brief outline he and Wells have come up with.

When he glances up, Wells' eyes are on him. They are inquisitive and cautious. The first he is familiar with when it comes to Wells. The second hurts his heart, but he has no one else to blame.

Still, this is progress. Maybe there is a way they can regain even a fraction of what Bellamy broke.

* * *

The meeting breaks up after a little while with each of them going off in separate directions. Clarke slips out of the dropship after a short conversation with Wells that has him rolling his eyes and promising her that he will not strain himself. He misses Bellamy’s narrowed eyes, but Octavia does not. She lightly hits her brother on his shoulder and all but shoves him out of the dropship, staying behind herself to sit with the recovering patients and Monty.

Miller falls into step with Bellamy silently as they make their way to Mbege and Murphy. Bellamy’s mind is still on the familiarity of his conversation with Wells, so Miller’s the one explaining the steps they are taking to build this new community. If the teenagers notice Bellamy’s inattention, they say nothing about it, and he is grateful.

He is still reeling from the fact that maybe he can make amends with Wells. Maybe there’s a way to not lose him forever, even after he finds out the truth.

 _Yeah,_ he thinks bitterly to himself. _And maybe that’s not a shooting star._

(His eyes track the movement of the ball of flame streaking across the sky and he pauses. _That is **not** a shooting star._ )

* * *

The next day is absolute chaos. Wells steps out of the dropship to see Clarke arguing with Murphy, Octavia itching to get out of the camp and Bellamy no where to be found. It is only Miller’s quiet presence that keeps Murphy in line. Wells’ confusion is plain on his face, and Octavia backtracks to him to fill him in.

“Are you sure?” he finally asks in disbelief after she is done. It is highly unlikely that the Ark will have sent a pod down, and while he does not say the words, he knows Octavia sees them on his face. She shrugs in response.

“Bell’s not in the camp,” she continues. “Clarke thinks he may have gone to search the pod out himself.” Clarke doesn’t trust him, is what she does not say. There is a pit in Wells’ stomach that agrees with Clarke, because he knows Bellamy is hiding something. Whatever it was that led to him pushing Wells away, it is still there.

Still, he simply nods at the girl. “You’re staying in camp, right?” He furrows his eyebrows and surveys the area. “I mean, Miller’s great, but I could use someone in my corner.” He misses the expression that crosses her face, a mixture of disquiet and guilt at never having helped him out.

“Yeah, of course I am.” The smile he shoots her is probably why her brother is crazy about him, she thinks with a returning grin. Even if Bellamy will never admit it.

* * *

Bellamy is fuming by the time the group – now including the spacewalker’s girlfriend, what the _fuck_ – reaches back to their camp. There is also a mild bout of panic that is spreading in his veins, because there is no way any of his companions will keep what they know from Wells. And once Wells knows – Bellamy’s hands curl into fists at his side.

Wells is the one to spot them first, and to hurry towards them, his eyebrows drawing together as he looks at Raven, and then the way she is holding on to Finn, and then to Clarke with what looks like worry and confusion in his eyes. Before he can say anything though, Raven sticks out her hand for him to shake.

“Raven Reyes,” she tells him. “You’re Jaha’s kid, right? Abby told me about you.”

Bellamy’s breath catches in his throat as he waits for her to spill the beans. Wells shakes her hand firmly and quirks a small grin. “Wells,” he tells her. “Just Wells.” Raven grins back and nods. Before the conversation can be continued, Clarke steps forward and grabs on to Wells’ shoulder.

“Raven, you should get that cut looked at. Octavia or Monty should have the first aid supplies,” the blonde tells the other girl. She is determinedly avoiding looking at or speaking to Finn, and it is obvious, but Raven proceeds to ignore it and smile instead, taking Finn’s hand as they walk away.

Wells looks down at Clarke and then at Bellamy. “What’s going on?” he asks cautiously.

Clarke’s upper lip curls as she glares at the older man instead of looking back at her best friend. “What’s going on is Raven explained how exactly Bellamy got on the dropship.”

“Listen, princess,” Bellamy starts, but does not really know how to continue. Clarke seems to sense that and her grin is startlingly vicious.

“There is nothing you can say to justify what you did and you know it, Blake.” Her eyes glitter dangerously, and Bellamy is reminded why the teenagers have been listening to her. She turns to Wells and her eyes soften enough for Bellamy to want to back away and hit something. “He shot your father,” she says bluntly. “The Chancellor is okay, but he tried to kill your father.”

His heart stops when he hears Wells’ sudden intake of breath, when Wells turns his eyes to his form and freezes. The guilt must be plain on his face because a flash of betrayal and pain shows on Wells’ face before he wipes it clean. Bellamy wants to flee from it all, feeling his hope that they will be able to fix things crumble around him, but he stays where he is.

Wells shakes Clarke’s grip off and strides forward, locking his jaw and ignoring her cry of “Wells, what are you doing?” He pauses for a beat, looking down at Bellamy before bringing his fist crashing down onto Bellamy’s face. The older man falls to the ground, and Wells rocks back on his heels.

When Bellamy looks back up at the teenager, he can see the sheen of tears in his eyes, and that makes him feel worse than just about anything else would. “I’m sorry,” he offers, knowing it will not make a difference, but meaning it anyway.

The teenager takes a step back and shakes his head. By the time his eyes meet Bellamy’s again, the tears are gone, and so are the emotions Bellamy is usually so capable of reading. “So am I,” he says.

And then he turns and walks away, and Bellamy closes his eyes.

* * *

Wells is thankful that Clarke is silent as they stride back towards her tent. He does not think he can deal with other people at the moment, and something tells him that she wants to avoid the new addition to their camp. They duck through the flap and into her tent, and Wells sags onto her bed.

“Don’t,” he tells her without looking. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she responds, and he can feel her sit next to him. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her and tugs her closer so that they are comfortable.

They sit in silence for a bit before Wells asks about Raven. “What’s her deal?”

There is a beat of silence before, “She came down here for Finn. Her boyfriend.”

He half-jerks in surprise, almost sending Clarke crashing to the ground. He tightens his grip on her in a quiet apology. “But I thought you and Finn?”

“Yeah,” she says, and there is a thread of bitterness in her voice. “Me too.”

A wry grin crosses his face and he shakes his head, glancing down at her. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Griffin.”

She shifts in his arm and peers up at him, a petulant glare on her face. “Oh, bite me, Jaha. You’re crushing on the king of anarchy.”

Wells winces in response, and feels the hurt settle into his bones again. “Guess my taste needs work too.” He closes his eyes again and attempts to pull himself out of the funk that is threatening to drag him down. “What do we do now?”

Clarke hugs him lightly and pulls away, getting to her feet and holding out her hand to him. “We get to work. Raven is going to try and fix the radio, but we also need a back up plan to let the Ark know we’re alive down here. Or they’re going to float so many people.”

There is a shadow in Clarke’s eyes that Wells knows is reflected in his own, as well as a grim determination. He puts his hand in hers and reflexively tightens it as she tugs him forward. “Then let’s get to work.”

* * *

Despite the work Raven and Monty both put into it, the radio does not get fixed, and that night, while the rest of the delinquents watch a meteor shower in awe, one small group of them feel an ache in their hearts.

That is not a meteor shower, Wells wants to screm. His gaze lands on Bellamy, and the hurt spreads. Their eyes meet, and the despair in Bellamy’s gaze matches Wells’ own.

It is an effort on Wells’ part to tear his eyes away from the other man. Instead, he curls his hand around Clarke’s and anchors himself to the reality of the ground.

He tilts his head back up and traces the streaks of light falling across the sky and mourns silently.

* * *

Learning the truth of Bellamy’s actions does not change the fact that he is everywhere Wells’ turns. The majority of the camp is still less than fond of Wells, even if the circle of people that do not mind his company has grown with Raven’s addition. Despite everything else, Bellamy _likes_ Wells.

And Wells is loathe to admit that he misses the other man. It is easier to fight with him, to argue when he did not understand – ignoring him takes too much effort when he is so aware of Bellamy all the time. It drains him.

So of course he is the one to have to head out with Bellamy in order to get weapons to defend their camp. Clarke tries to volunteer to take Wells’ place, but it is Miller who points out that Wells and Bellamy have to come to a truce of some sorts if they want to keep the peace in camp, and survive the grounders. To his credit, Bellamy does not try to strike a conversation as they hike to the bunker.

They are silent until they find the guns. Then Bellamy hands one to Wells. “Let’s see if the big cat was a fluke,” there is a hint of amusement on his lips that does not reach his eyes. Wells hates that he can still read the shorter man so well.

He raises the gun carefully and takes the shot, missing the way Bellamy steps back, eyes wide and focused on Wells and not the bull’s-eye he just hit.

And then things go to shit.

Wells does not understand it, not at first. It seeps under his skin, into his veins, until he cannot tell his left from his right, his ups from his downs – he does not see Bellamy leave the bunker, does not see the figure behind Bellamy.

Instead he sees the spectre of his mother, a voice he has not heard in years, a smile that he sees in his own reflection – and his hands tremble as he reaches out.

“You’re doing so good, baby boy,” she whispers to him, an echo of her words when she was sick and dying. “I am so proud of you.”

There are tears in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be,” he murmurs back shamefully. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t help anyone.”

She shakes her head, and Wells wants so badly to hug her. “Yes, you can,” she tells him. “You just need to step out of this box, and do something.”

He steps forward, confused, and the world spins. He tumbles to the floor, his hands slamming hard against the concrete. The pain jars him, and he blinks to clear his vision.

When he stands, his mother is gone, and there is a cold realization that he does not know where Bellamy is. He scrambles out of the bunker, shocked by the noise of the forest after the silence and stillness of the box. Bellamy is on the ground, one of the members of the camp – Dax, he dimly remembers the boy’s name – leaning over him, _hurting_ him.

Wells has taken three steps forward before he realizes what he is doing. Dax is talking, he is poised to kill, and Wells’ heart is thumping so hard in his chest he is surprised the other two men have not heard him already.

Why is Bellamy not fighting back? Except he knows why, he sees the guilt and self-recrimination in his eyes every time they come face to face.

He knocks Dax out of the way before he can make another move, and manages to knock him out. Bellamy struggles to breathe, to move, and Wells helps him up. They stagger together, arms around one another to keep each other upright, and collapse at the base of a large tree.

Wells glances at Bellamy, whose eyes are closed, and who looks utterly defeated. “You do not get to do that,” he breaks the silence, anger colouring his voice.

Bellamy’s eyes blink open, and he turns to the younger man. There is confusion plain on his face. “What?”

“You don’t get to give up,” Wells says. “These kids look up to you. They listen to you. They need you. We can’t do this without you, Bellamy.”

Bellamy continues to look flabbergasted. “Charlotte tried to kill you because of me. I shot your father. I’m the reason so many people are dead! They’re better off without me.” There is so much loathing in his voice that Wells leans forward to align their bodies so that their shoulders are touching. It is the only comfort he can offer at the moment.

“We’d all be dead without you,” he reminds the man. “You stepped up and took charge, and yes, you did some very stupid things while you were in charge, but if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have survived as long as we have. Yeah, I am supremely pissed off at you about a lot of things, but that does not mean you just roll over and give up.”

Bellamy is looking at him in something like awe. There are shadows in his eyes as he murmurs, “I was raised better than this.”

“Then **be** better than this. This is not you, Blake – I _know_ you,” Wells says. He is thinking of late night conversations and a friendship that sometimes does not need words at all. The look on Bellamy’s face tells him that Bellamy is thinking of the same. “You owe me, right? This is what I want from you – you’re going to go back to that camp with me, and you’re going to do better. You’re going to be the man I know you to be. You’re going to be better.”

It is like a weight has been lifted off Bellamy’s shoulders. He looks infinitely more like the man Wells knew on the Ark, and there is a curl to his lips as he takes in the intensity of Wells’ words and gaze. “See,” he remarks, “always knew you had an angle.”

Things are not all fixed between them, there is too much that has happened in these last weeks, but it is a start. Wells rolls his eyes. “Shut it, Blake.”

He feels rather than hears Bellamy chuckle next to him as he leans back against the trunk of the tree. “Thank you, Wells,” Bellamy says softly.

* * *

Everybody notices the lessening of tension between them when they arrive back at the camp, but their focus is quickly diverted to the boxes of guns and ammunition they are carrying, and the way Dax is trudging behind them, refusing to meet anybody’s eyes. Octavia is furious when she finds out about Dax’s actions, and Bellamy is shocked when Clarke is almost equally as angry.

They take a consensus with the whole camp about what to do with Dax. A number of the delinquents suggest floating, but Wells is the first one to turn that down, quickly and empathically. It is Murphy that suggests banishment – a fitting punishment in his eyes for someone who would attempt to murder one of their own. It takes a bit more discussion before they decide that leaving Dax without any provisions or defence would be too much, and they arm him before Mbege, Miller and Murphy walk him into the forest.

It is the first decision they make as a community in this new life of theirs, and it a painful one. It will be slow going, Bellamy thinks as he catches first Clarke’s eyes, then his sister’s compassionate ones, and then finally Wells’ gaze. They remain locked in their own little bubble as hope flares in Bellamy’s chest at the lack of anger or apathy in the other’s eyes.

It will be slow going, but it will be worth it.

* * *

Of course, being who they are, the fights do not end there. Bellamy and Clarke clash more often than not, and Raven comments that she thinks they enjoy butting heads. But occasionally, Wells and Bellamy will argue, and the first few times they do, everybody sat back and took notice.

Eventually, the sight becomes common place. Wells will get annoyed, and Bellamy will needle him, and they will argue until Wells storms off and Bellamy watches with a smirk.

"Whatever the hell you want, right Blake?" Wells bites out, eyes flashing with annoyance. The teenagers surrounding them are more than used to the sight of their two male leaders arguing. Bellamy seems to enjoy riling Wells up, so they are paying little attention to them. They do not realize that this fight is going to go a little differently.

Bellamy pauses, and a smirk flirts at his lips. Wells huffs out a breath and tries to step back, but this time, Bellamy takes a large step forward, close enough that their breath mingles between them. "Yes," he murmurs, warm breath ghosting over Wells' lips. "Whatever the hell I want." His fingers grasp at the hem of the teenager's shirt, tugging him forward until their chests are pressed together. Wells is just a little taller than Bellamy, and the older man has to tilt his head back a little in order to get the angle right so that their lips meet.

There is silence around them, and Wells is still in Bellamy's arms. He presses his lips a little more insistently onto the teenager's because _no_ , he cannot have read this wrong. He cannot lose Wells, he cannot - and then Wells makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat and sinks into the kiss. His lips part slightly, and the kiss becomes more pronounced, and it feels like coming home, like belonging.

Bellamy vaguely registers Octavia yelling, "Finally!" near them, vaguely registers what sounds like Jasper crying, "My eyes! My poor virgin eyes!"

His lips quirk into a grin when Wells pulls away just enough to tell him, "I'm still mad at you."

"That's okay," he says back. "The make up sex will be worth it."

And Wells closes his eyes, wrinkling up his nose as he complains, "What the fuck do I even see in you," even as Bellamy pulls him back into another kiss, laughing against his lips.

There are still things to be worked out, truces to forge, battles ahead. But Bellamy feels settled in his skin like he never has before.

(Sometime later Wells will comment on how he's in love with a sappy little shit. Bellamy will cheerily respond with "But I'm your sappy little shit." Everyone else will groan and throw things at him and Wells will cover his face with his hand in despair. But that is in the future, after wars and losing people and gaining people.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Follow me on [tumblr](http://ankahikoibaat.tumblr.com/) for more Wellamy flailing and headcanons. And if you want to know about those deleted scenes.)

**Author's Note:**

> For all the people I've inadvertently caused to ship this thing. I love you guys.
> 
> (Follow me on [tumblr](http://ankahikoibaat.tumblr.com/) for more Wellamy flailing and headcanons. And if you want to know about those deleted scenes.)


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